Blood Alcohol Levels
by Valeada
Summary: When England goes to a bar to drown his sorrows the last thing he wants is for France to show up. But as they get to know each other better England and France develop a haphazard friendship. FrUk for XxSumieLoveNerdsxX on DeviantArt. Eventual Smut.
1. Chapter 1

So, I finally got a decent amount of this done, and realized that for now while I'm writing this I could put this on here in chapters, then post the full work on deviantart when it's done. So This piece was written for XxSumieLoveNerdsxX on Deviantart as a prize for winning a Halloween contest (yes, this is really that late :P) and I am working my very hardest to finish it. I have probably about half of the next chapter done on this, but it's getting quite hard to write, as when I started this I knew I had a beginning idea, and I knew what I wanted to happen at the end, but only a vague idea of what to do in the middle, so I'm getting a bit stuck. Hopefully inspiration will come soon. Sorry If I got any historical facts wrong, or if I mess up my french, and I will try to update ASAP!

Warnings: For now there is only swearing and alcohol usage, but there will be some sexy times later on.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any characters associated with it, I just own the order of these words.

Flames will be used to roast marshmallows, and all the ones I burn will be chucked into the houses of the flamers who started the fires.

There is something to be said about the magic of alcohol. It whittles away your inhibitions with each throat-searing drop. It helps you to forget your troubles, god knows he's had many of those. It allows you to enjoy every sensation all the more, opening up your senses like a floodgate. It lets you allow yourself to experience things your rational mind would never condone normally. But as England knew all too well that stifling of the rational mind worked against you too. Alcohol was like that little devil on your shoulder. It told you to run free, to live life to it's full potential. But it also told you some, in retrospect, pretty stupid things as well. And for England things always seemed to end up on that not so good side after he took to the bottle. Which didn't often help him forget the problems that had led him to drink in the first place. It especially didn't help when people he knew showed up at the bar he'd chosen. However this time he had chosen a small pub out of the way of pretty much everyone. Hell, it was out of his way too, but that was a small price to pay for privacy.

_"L'__Angleterre__? _What are you doing here?" a musical voice floated out from behind him. Shit. Of course, no matter how hard he tried someone always found him. But why did it always seem to be France that found him, especially when he was feeling low?

"Why do you think I'm here you bloody frog? This is a bar, I'm here for a drink!" England spat, not bothering to turn around. "What about you though? Isn't this a bit out of your way?" He barely managed to stifle a groan as the Frenchman slid onto the stool next to him. Now there would be no getting rid of him.

"This place isn't actually too far from one of my vacation houses. You on the other hand must have been travelling for ages to get here." France sighed, flipping a stray lock of hair over his shoulder. "Not to mention the fact that they serve French wine, which is more than I can say of the other pubs in the area." He nodded to the bartender, who started to reach for a bottle of red wine. Arthur's eyes narrowed as he took a gulp of his gin, taking comfort in the burn as it slid down his throat. He set the glass back on the bar noisily, turning to meet the eyes of his fellow nation.

"I came here to try to avoid people like you! I'd never have thought that you of all people would come to this little place." He spat, finishing his drink and motioning for another one. The bartender returned with a glass of wine for France and another gin for England. England downed a large gulp of his drink, watching the other man from out of the corner of his eye. He was his usual frustratingly handsome self, his blonde hair falling in soft golden waves, framing his unblemished face and his piercing blue eyes. Really, in looks, he was perfect. If only the bloody frog never opened his mouth England might actually be able to stand being in the same room as him.

"Well I didn't think I would have to put up with you tonight either, so we're even." France replied, casually sipping the ruby liquid in his glass.

"Wanker." England snapped.

"Fool" France shot back.

"Tosser!"

"Eyebrows!"

"Frog!"

"Roast beef!"

"You perverted git!"

"You classless buffoon!"

" You fucking BASTARD!" England yelled, standing up and punctuating each word with another bang on the table, causing both of their glasses to fall over. "I have enough problems to deal with without you following me to a bar in order to antagonize me!" He panted, his chest heaving. He reached over and poked the Frenchman in the chest, who gently removed the finger.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to invade your privacy, but you're not the only one who needs to have a drink once in a while." France explained, a frown creeping over his face. England snorted.

"What sort of problems could you possibly have?" He mumbled, staring into his drink.

"You always seem to forget, _L'Angleterre, _that I am a nation as well. I have many of the same problems as you. I lost my colony to you, and you can't even remember Canada's name now. I've had my own civil wars, my citizens seem to hunger for their countryman's blood even more than yours do. As for the two people I'm most known for, Joan of Arc was killed by my own people, and Napoleon is mocked for his height. I just can't win, no matter what I say to you people. " France sighed, tossing back the last of the wine like a shot, and gesturing for another glass. England frowned. Apart for this Canada person he had mentioned (who England was still unable to remember) France did actually seem to have had it pretty rough. He put a comforting hand on his shoulder, turning to face France.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize." England muttered. France raised an eyebrow, surprised at the voluntary contact.

"It's no problem, I've grown used to it." he smiled halfheartedly, turning to meet England's gaze. "What about you? What brings you to the bottle today?"

"It's America. That bloody brat keeps bringing up the idea of him being his own independent nation. I can't seem to shake the idea out of his head." England whined, putting his head in his hands. He really did not want to talk about this with anyone, last of all with France, but he was here now, and so he might as well. "I mean, he's just a kid! He's not old enough to go out on his own! And besides that, I'm not sure if I could stand to see him go."

"There always comes a time when a colony has to leave. I know it's hard, but we've all been through it before." France said, offering a sip of his drink to England, who declined, making a face.

"Stop acting all high and mighty, frog! Just because I'm telling you my problems doesn't mean that I need your stupid frenchie opinions!" England snapped. "And I don't want your stupid wine either!" He cried, knocking the glass away and causing it to spill it's contents over the counter. France stood up hastily, trying to avoid wine stains.

"Look what you did, you stupid roast beef! You spilled my wine! That was a vintage, made by monks! This is the only place you can get it and they only have a few bottles left and you just go and spill it?" He yelled, pushing England backwards, who stumbled before catching his balance on a bar stool. He attempted to straighten himself up, but the fact that it was a turning stool and that England had a blood alcohol level that exceeded America's IQ sent him tumbling to the floor. France reached out a hand to help the nation up, but England brushed it away angrily.

"No, I don't want help from a stupid frog! I can get up by myself!" He roared, completely enraged. He stood up hastily, brushing the Frenchman aside and stormed out of the bar.

Sorry it's so short, There will be more soon, i promise! Review are food for my soul, and are the best medicine against writers block!

Translations: L'Angleterre – England


	2. Chapter 2

Bleh, sorry this took so long to be posted, my muse temporarily left me. Thankfully I have re-caged it and forced it to give me something, so here is this chapter. I think I have an idea of what to do in the middle of this now, so you may see this done! Thanks to everyone who Favourited/Alerted :) Reviews would be lovely, but really I'm happy that anyone ever even reads this. And if anyone is willing to Beta this, please let me know, I am rubbish at re reading my work, it makes me feel awkward. Flames will be converted into wonderflonium, which in turn shall be used to create a freeze ray to allow me to have lovely dances in laundromats with pretty girls.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or any characters associated with it, I just own the order of these words.

Not surprisingly England ended up back at the same bar the next night. He looked around quickly, searching the crowd for anyone he knew, before quietly ordering a glass of wine from the bartender. He was just curious, yes, that was it. He wanted to know what the frog was always moaning about. He didn't think it would be good at all, he just wanted to try it out. And it wasn't at all that he felt bad about their argument the night before. Not at all. Of course not.

He was glad when his drink arrived to break him out of this disruptive train of thought. He took a careful sip, ready to spit it out and wasn't surprised when that's exactly what he wanted to to. He shuddered, letting some of the wine slip out of his lips and back into the glass.

"Is it really that bad?" a laughing voice drifted out from behind him, causing Arthur to comically choke on the red liquid. Of course. He should have known (once again) that France would show up if he even thought about wine.

"W-what are you doing here?" He spluttered, banging on his chest to get rid of the alcohol in his throat. "Again?"

"Doing this again are we? I seem to recall telling you last night that I have a vacation home near hear, or were you too drunk to hear me?" Francis jibed.

"I wasn't drunk you bastard! I was just... upset." The island nation interrupted, pouting.

"And then you were the one who stormed out. And now you're the one drinking wine at the same bar you stormed out of. And my wine to boot!" France finished, eyes alight with mischief.

"I'm not drinking it because I like it! I'm drinking it to see what you make such a fuss about!" England snapped. "And I haven't found the answer yet, it tastes disgusting!" France reached down, taking the glass from England's hand. He sniffed it's contents before making a face.

"Eugh, and no wonder too, this is one of my newer wines, even I'll admit they are crap." He shuddered, handing the glass back to Arthur. He motioned to the barman. "See to it that this man gets a decent bottle of wine, and put it on my tab." England's cheeks burned red.

"I don't need your charity, frog. I'll pay for it." He spluttered. Francis waved his hand airily as he sat down next to the brit.

"Nonsense, it's not charity if I drink from the bottle as well, _non_?" He dismissed. The bartender sat down two wine glasses and poured some of the ruby liquid into each before leaving the bottle to tend to his other customers. Francis sipped his wine, and sighed contentedly.

"Ah, now that is quality wine." He smiled, looking over at England to see his reaction. The man hesitantly raised the glass to his lips, took a quick sniff before taking the smallest sip possible, and a look of wonder passed over his face.

"That's not too bad actually. I might me able to see why you like this stuff." He said in amazement. France's mouth hung open. He braced himself on the bar counter, feigning a swoon.

"Oh, someone help me, I think I must be hearing things. Did _L'Angleterre _really just compliment something of mine?" He cried dramatically. England felt his face burn in embarrassment, but instead of a snarl, a laugh somehow burst through his pursed lips. Before he knew it he was bursting into roaring laughter. The Frenchman gaped at him in shock, before regaining his composure and joining England in laughter. A few moments later when they were both able to calm down. Francis wiped a tear drop out of the corner of his eye.

"I think that was the first time I ever laughed with you, _L'Angleterre_. It was nice." he smiled. Arthur nodded, slightly surprised at himself. Both for laughing, and for enjoying it.

"Call me Arthur. We're not at work, I think it's safe to drop the formalities." England decided.

France grinned.

"Well then, Arthur, I must insist that you call me Francis." he smiled, extending a hand and giving Arthur's a mock shake. "Now that we've got this silly bickering out of the way," he continued "Why don't you tell me why you decided to come back to the bottle tonight? What are you running away from, Arthur?"

Said Brit frowned, and nearly snapped at France, but stopped himself just before he did. Things had been miraculously civil thus far, so why start something now? And so for the first time in their long relationship, England sat down with France at the bar, a glass of wine in his hand, and talked about his problems. Most of the talk ended up being him ranting about America, but still, at least England wasn't fighting with France. They talked, not as countries, but as two men with troubles to spare telling each other what was on their minds, and for once, things were nice.


End file.
